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But she was not sure just how to reach it. " "As like as life, Sir," observed Austin, peeping over Thornhill's shoulder at the portrait. "Why came she here?" "She could not resist the hand of fate which drew her hither," replied Sir Cecil, mournfully. " "We may believe as much of that as we please, I suppose," observed the carpenter's wife, with a sneer. "Shall I never banish those horrible phantoms from my couch—the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair!—the mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach!—And must another be added to their number—their son! Horror!—let me be spared this new crime! And yet the gibbet—my name tarnished—my escutcheon blotted by the hangman!—No, I cannot submit to that.
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